


i've got spies

by littlefoxfires



Series: anything, anything (i'll give you) [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Love Triangles, Moral Ambiguity, Statutory Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6962176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlefoxfires/pseuds/littlefoxfires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows what Bellamy thinks about her—or, at least, what he thought before last night. Reasonable, compassionate, intelligent. Octavia disagrees a bit, and to be honest, her view of Clarke is probably a little more accurate. Frankly, Clarke likes to think she cannot be put into any category. She prides herself on knowing people, and what they want (mostly, what they want from her), so yes, of course, she’s very in-tuned to who she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've got spies

**Author's Note:**

> This has been unfinished and on my computer forever, so I decided to finish it. I'm on a roll. This is part of a series, and you have to read the others, or you'll have no idea what i'm talking about. At all. This part is in Clarke's POV, because I honestly didn't know what to write next, and I knew her POV would be fun and warped and just plain ol' crazy. I really like writing messed-up versions of Clarke. Really. Also, this is rated M not for sexual content, but the subject matter is a bit much, I feel like.
> 
> Trigger warnings (!!!) for Implied Statutory Rape, Underage Sex. I think that's it, but if anyone points out anything else, I'll put it up here.

After dropping Bellamy at home from the hospital, Clarke doesn't take Octavia to school. They have a good excuse, the girl insists—maybe even skipping their last period would be alright, they can just go to their respective practices. Clarke usually runs the field with the rest of the Lacrosse players, sprinting up and down, warming up, and then she blazes in and out of her teammates to make goals. She is, obviously, the star of the team, and the Captain. Number 24.

They end up sneaking junk food before after-school activities, which they are definitely not supposed to be eating, especially since Octavia insists they diet together in order to look great for Prom in two months. They are, of course, each other’s dates. “Fuck boys,” Octavia had said, in between sorting through racks, “I’m done with them.” She says it in a way that’s completely blasé, like she just doesn’t want to date, but Clarke sees her eyeing Raven Reyes and wishes she would just go for it and not worry about upsetting her.

It’s only when they’re stuffing their faces that Octavia says, in between bites, “So, how magical is your pussy? Really.”

Clarke looks up, after just a moment, a hint of an amused smirk on her face.

“‘Cause like, my brother slept till like, the afternoon—“ and exaggeration, “— you fuck him once and he’s looking like he’s about to pass out.”

That gets a a full-on grin, just for a second, “Is this a proposal? You want to find out for yourself?”

Octavia’s laugh is so obnoxious she startles the family next to them, “Oh, my God, shut up.”

Clarke leans back, and blinks, slowly. She throws a fry onto her tray. The moment isn’t tense, not much. But, she knows what’s coming, “I love him,” she says, maybe equal parts vehement and dreamy, a bit like she’d said earlier, when she ignored the shock and horror on Bellamy’s face and the pit in her stomach. Because she’s so certain, really certain, that he loves her back. So any qualms he has, she will resolve them.

Octavia rolls her eyes dramatically, “Yeah. You told me like a million times. I get it,” she sips her milkshake, because no matter what, Octavia always orders milkshakes. Never sodas.

“He loves me, too.”

Her best friend sets down the milkshake, looks at her in a shrewd way that reminds Clarke so much of Bellamy, but something about it is all her own, “Did he say that?” Octavia says, entirely too dry for her liking.

And that’s when Clarke gets defensive, squares her shoulders, “He doesn’t have to,” she insists, emotion rising in her skin. Definitely indignation, “I know it. I can see it.”

The shrewd look hasn’t dissipated, and Octavia says, without breaking that gaze, “Don’t fuck with my brother, Clarke.”

This is what she expected, really. Clarke knows. She’s very intuitive, “I told you—“

“He’s not Cage,” Octavia cuts her off, blunt in that way that her brother can be, but maybe worse, because it’s Octavia, and she can sort of work Bellamy, calm him down, argue with him, especially on rationality. Octavia isn’t quite clinical. She’s rational, sure, but it’s so perfectly mixed with emotion that she’s almost always on the mark. Octavia is the single person Clarke cannot manipulate, even if she tried (which she has). “He’s not a fucking toy for you to fuck with because you’re…like…” Octavia trails off, rolling her eyes, sighing in frustration. But it’s not at her. It seems to be because of her own carelessness, the viciousness of what she stopped herself from saying.

But, she cannot blame the girl for being this way. Even if it’s a little mean. Clarke tells Octavia more than she tells Bellamy. She knows what Bellamy thinks about her—or, at least, what he thought before last night. Reasonable, compassionate, intelligent. Octavia disagrees, and her view of Clarke is probably a little more accurate. Frankly, Clarke likes to think she cannot be put into any category. She prides herself on knowing people, and what they want (mostly, what they want from her), so yes, of course, she’s very in-tuned to who she is.

She refuses to look away from Octavia, eyebrows raised, “I know he’s not a toy. I don’t see him as a toy, he’s not. He’s not a toy,” she’s beginning to talk in circles, she realizes, and straightens, trying to get a hold of herself, “I’m not using him, I wouldn’t do that. This is not…Cage. It’s Bellamy.” After a moment, she decides to break the tension, “And just so you know, it was twice. Last night, and in the kitchen, when you were taking a shower.”

The silence is deafening, and Octavia’s face is set in a mix of disgust and horror, “I was upstairs.”

“I know. We had to be fast. And quiet.”

“We make food in there!”

Clarke shrugs, letting a little smile play on her lips.

“And what about Cage?” Octavia says, a little sassy, leaning forward, forearms on the table. Seeing her like this, torn jeans and leather jacket, is a stark contrast to her red cheerleading uniform and high ponytail, glitter on her face.

Clarke tilts her head, pretending to think, but soon, pretending becomes real—darkness and passion swirls in her mind, as it always does at the thought of Cage. She hates him. She really does. And after a moment, she says, face carefully blank, “I’ll take care of Cage.”

—

She’s home after practice, and the whole way, Clarke is planning her speech. It is just going to be one of the many conversations she’s had with Bellamy. Or really, she talks, and he listens. Soaks it up, nods and accepts. Whether she’s chewing him out over making his sister upset, or telling him things are going to be alright when his family is having financial troubles. Clarke takes a turn on her street. She is confident she can make him understand that this transition from friends to lovers has been inevitable. He can’t deny the way he feels about her. Any problems he has with her relationship with Cage are invalid. She’s going to stop seeing him, she just needs time to break it off. They can be together because they love each other, that’s what matters. He’s her best friend. Etcetera.

She’s going over key points when they pull into her driveway. And her heart is stopped in her chest. Because Bellamy’s car isn't there.

They’re sitting in the BMW, Clarke’s hands gripping the steering wheel tight, her knuckles are almost white from the tension. Octavia is looking over to her, clad in her tank top and shorts, nikes still kicked up on the dashboard, “What’s wrong?” she asks, confused and wary.

Clarke can’t even hear her voice, dulled against, _where did he go, where did he go, where did he go._

_“Hey!”_

The trance is only broken when Octavia yells in her face. Clarke starts abruptly, and actually shakes her head, like there are cobwebs around her brain. 

“I’m going catch up with you,” she tells her friend calmly, a little smile on her face. Octavia’s green eyes search her face for a while, and then she makes a face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’ll be right back!”

She sighs impatiently, like she’s had enough of her shit, but Clarke only gives the girl her most charming smile, only a bit wavy around the edges, and when she’s alone in the car, she takes off toward the Blakes’ house.

—

She might have bothered to call, maybe. But, for some reason, she lost her good sense. Thankfully, Bellamy isthere. And as he opens to door, she thinks to herself, _what if he was just getting some clothes? What if he was just stopping by and coming right back? What if you’re being paranoid?_

But, Clarke trusts her gut. And besides that, she knows Bellamy better than he knows himself. And that was enough to know he is running away from her. That, and when he opens the door it is with a look that is both guilty and stony. With a glare, she shoulders past him.

“Avoiding me,” she accuses, throwing her keys on the coffee table. She raises her brow, crossing her arms as she turns around, watching him close the door, “Very mature.” 

“I’m fine staying here,” he starts, but it’s futile, it really is, “Mom’s coming home tomorrow, there’s no reason for me to stay—“

Clarke sees her opening, and moves closer to him in a way that is seemingly casual, eyes downcast, but stride slow and purposeful, “I can think of one reason.”

She can feel his tension, she doesn’t need to see it, and everything in her wants to reach over and smooth it all away, make him realize, it’s okay. It’s perfectly okay.

He’s blunt, so Bellamy just comes out and says it, voice terribly tortured, “You’re seventeen, Clarke,” and she looks up at him though her eyelashes, waiting for him to continue, “What happened—that shouldn’t have happened—“

“Twice,” she remarks, deliberately off-handed.

“What?”

She lifts her chin, innocently, to look at him fully, and says matter-of-factly, “It happened twice,” unable to keep a little smile off her face.

Bellamy looks away, but she can see his face battling with self-loathing and amusement, so she walks closer, into his personal space right against him, and reaches up to turn his face back to her. He closes his eyes and breathes harshly through his nose.

“Hey,” she says softly, “Hey,” she goes through her first talking point, the most important one, “I care about you,” she doesn't say, _‘I love you_ ’ because she doesn’t want to scare him off, “I know you care about me, too.” She runs her hands through his hair just the way he likes, and smiles at his shiver, “That’s all that matters.”

Gently, Bellamy grabs her hands and pulls them away, “No, it isn’t,” he opens his eyes, but he can’t meet her own, “I’m going to tell your mom.”

Clarke would have gasped if she had the breath, but she manages to steel her emotions and say, “What?” a confused smile on her face. And of course, he looks right through her, sees the anxiety around her edges, the way her hands shake for a second. She’s tense, rigid, maybe. Frightful, somewhat. He’s silent, just searching her face with concern, and she takes a breath, “What?”

Bellamy’s eyes flint across her face, “About Cage. Maybe about me. I haven’t decided yet.”

Oh. Cage. Right. Clarke laughs, “Bellamy. I’m done with Cage. Give me a few days and he won’t be a problem.”

He frowns, shakes his head, “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Alright. She gets it. She does. She’s younger than him. But that shouldn’t matter, it’s them. He’s not taking advantage of her. She came onto him, she wanted him. And it wasn’t— _isn’t_ anything like her situation with Cage. 

“I understand your concerns,” Clarke says with a nod, completely calm, “I just don’t agree. I think we should talk before you make any decisions about my life,” she says steadily.

“You’re a kid, and your step-dad—“

She stops him with a kiss, she _loves_ kissing him, cradling his face in her hands, pushing up on her toes. For a moment he’s still, and then she grabs at him, winding her arms around his neck and using a her fingers to comb through his hair. He groans in her mouth and the arms around her almost lift her off her feet. She opens his mouth with a swipe of her tongue and kisses him deeply. She _loves_ kissing him. And when they part, with barely a breath between them, she feels sliced open, raw, for the first time in a long time, when she says, “I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? _Do I mean anything to you?”_

He swallows, and for a second Clarke can see that struggle. A battle. But she wins when he nods, “Yeah. It does. You do.”

She nods along with him, and smiles, “Good.” 

“But that doesn’t mean what we did was okay,” he says firmly, “You were in a bad place—“

“—What are you _talking_ about?”

Bellamy lets go of her, and looks at her incredulously, “Clarke. Tell me you know that sleeping with your step-father is not a good thing.”

He’s never talked down to her like this. She hates it, “I’m not an idiot,” she snaps, “But he’s not taking advantage of me—“

“—Then what is he doing?”

Clarke’s heart is beating out of her chest, a rhythm she can’t identify. She rolls her shoulders back and straightens them, sets her jaw, “I don’t want to talk about Cage.”

After a tense moment, Bellamy asks, a bit harshly, “Why not?”

“Because…” she lets out a noise of frustration. This was not how the talk was supposed to go. This was not how it was supposed to go, “Because I don’t want to!” she says, like a fucking child, and hates herself for it.

“Why not?”

 _“Because I don’t want to!”_ she yells, and gasps right after. Bellamy though, with his arms crossed, is unfazed. He reaches for her, but she pushes him away, “Don’t.” In a direct contrast to a moment before, she’s skilled her voice impassive and cold, to the way she talks to her mother. “Don’t touch me.”

He backs off a safe distance, and of course, _of course,_ she wishes he would come for her anyway, and wrap her up.

“I’ll tell her,” Clarke lies. But, she has always lied extremely well, “I’ll tell her.”

Bellamy lifts his chin, “When?”

She hates him. She’s changed her mind. She doesn’t love him at all. She wants to tell him so, but the words won’t come out,because she can't tell that lie. Instead she says, “Give me a week. I have a game Friday, I need to concentrate on that.”

There’s a beat, then, “Okay.”

She doesn’t even wait before getting her keys and moving to the door. She hears her name being called, but Clarke doesn’t turn around. She takes the porch stairs down the driveway. She walks down the driveway to her car. She unlocks her car. She opens the door. She gets in. And she cries.

Clarke doesn’t cry. She didn’t cry when her dad told her he would be moving across the world after the divorce. She probably should’ve cried, then. Instead, she got angry. This startling reminder jolts her back to reality. The sobs stop abruptly, noise cut off like _click!_ The tears have stopped flowing but are wet on her face, breath coming in and out short. She’s not sad. Clarke grips her steering wheel tight. What is there to be sad about? She goes over the last couple of minutes in her head. Nothing about that encounter should have made her cry, and yet? She sat in her car blubbering like a baby. 

The only thing she can think of is Bellamy’s rejection. Which, if she recalled correctly (and she often did) was not really a rejection. She means something to him. Her love means something to him (the most important part of the whole conversation). If it was a rejection, that would be something to cry about. But, it wasn’t. He practically admitted he had feelings for her (which she knew, but it was nice to be validated).

That being said, the issue with Cage…

She felt a spike in emotion. There it was. That was were it was coming from. And that _definitely_ doesn’t make sense. Maybe it was because he threatened to tell Abby. Definitely. Which in turn would endanger her relationship with Bellamy, and of course, with Octavia. She’d lose the two people she loves most in the world. That’s sad.

But, she detests feeling sad. It was a useless emotion (she starts her car). Anger, however. Anger, she could use in order to secure an intended outcome. Or at least make herself feel better. And now that she was done being sad, Clarke was definitely angry.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment! I'll be updating my other stories soon.


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